


Possession is Nine-Tenths

by Ladycat



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Porn, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 03:02:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're jealous." The words crack through the air, Rodney's long-suffering amusement doing nothing to mitigate the gleam in his eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possession is Nine-Tenths

"Is it the shooting thing?" Rodney doesn't look up from his laptop. He doesn't _need_ to, because he found the Magic John Sheppard Decoder-ring a few months ago and now can figure out most things just by being in the same room as John.

It's not all that comfortable.

"I don't know what you're talking about," John says, and no, he isn't sulking. At all.

Tap-tippity-tap, clicky-fucking-clack. He's managed to spend most of his life avoiding computers, using them when he needs but otherwise leaving them to people who liked mud on their heels; the past two years have been a whole new soundtrack for him to get used to. No more deep growl of engines as they lift off, the whine of air going too fast around, g's so thick they're almost a taste. Not even the clicking, wet drip of an engine cooling down.

Now it's tapping. Fingers on keys, pens on desks, even Ronon's god damned nails on the hilt of his knives, and how the hell does a man who's been on the run for seven years pick up a habit that _makes noise_?

He glances back at Rodney to see him looking up, eyes vivid. "What?" he asks.

"Oh, nothing. It's just that you were growling. On par with things that walk on all fours and hunt things with their teeth, which I suppose could mean Ronon and -- "

John has no idea what he does, but it has to be _something_ , because Rodney rarely cuts himself off like that. Petering off, being interrupted by people threatening him with little lemons, or much bigger guns, yeah. But almost jerking to a verbal halt? That's unusual and John really, really isn't interested in unusual right now. He's had plenty of it.

God, the image of Elizabeth _running her hands down Lucius's chest_ is going to haunt him for a while.

"You're really out of it, aren't you?" Rodney muses. "Like not just oh, I have a cold, or wow, I've been running around trying to deprogram everybody."

John shrugs. "It's been a long day."

"Except, actually, this has been a really _short_ day. Oh, don't look at me like that, I remember just how mind-boggling scary it was to see Beckett practically pledge his troth, but seriously, what's up with you? There was no shooting, no imminent death, just a creepy loser of a man. And you're jumping like there were Hive ships involved."

John glares. "What've I said about you jinxing us, Rodney."

"You haven't said anything. _I'm_ the one that says that, and then you poo-poo it like pilots aren't as superstitious as something out of the Bayou." Rodney crosses his arm over his chest, tilting his head as he thinks. Blue eyes track every movement John makes, neatly plotting out courses John can't navigate. "Huh. That's interesting."

John's about to snap something back, but the words freeze on his tongue. Ronon's leaning against the doorway to the lab, quietly surveying them. 

"McKay," Ronon grunts.

"Yes, yes, you apologize for shoving me up against a wall, forgiven, whatever, I didn't realize you were this girly." Rodney's hand waves just a little too fast, belying the boredom in his voice.

John has to actively work to get his shoulders down from his ears. This is exactly why he's been in the labs for the last hour, instead of his quarters or the gym. "Ronon."

Ronon doesn't even look at him. "Didn't come here to apologize. Wanted to make sure I didn't hurt you."

The low roaring blocks out half of what Rodney says. He -- Ronon -- 

"Oh, my god, are you _blushing_?"

John focuses back into reality in time to verify that no, Rodney's not talking about him. He's talking about _Ronon_ , who is blushing, two pale pink blotches on his cheekbones.

For a moment, John forgets everything as he exchanges an incredulous look with Rodney. Ronon. _Blushing_.

"Just checking," Ronon says, and he even _sounds_ mortified. And terse. But a terse kind of mortification.

Rodney rolls his eyes. "I have bruises on my shoulders, and if there was a masseuse around here I'd make you buy me an hour's time, but yes, yes, I'm fine. You were _drugged_ , I understand that. And anyway, don't you have something you should be apologizing to the Colonel for?"

And just like that, the roaring, yawning anger is back, blurring the edges of his vision as his gaze locks with Ronon's. Yeah, Ronon _damn_ well has something to apologize for, and if he doesn't, John isn't above using what little influence he has over Ronon to make his life hell for the next few weeks. How _dare_ he!

But Ronon just shrugs. "He wanted me to shoot him," he says, and turns on his heel, vanishing from the labs.

Both men blink for a second. "You _wanted_ \-- oh, that just figures," Rodney grumbles, returning to his laptop. "Of _course_ you'd want him to shoot you! Classic Sheppard right there!"

The resumption of the Song of the Labs is oddly comforting, giving John mental space to retreat again. He snags the back of a rolling chair, settling into the uncomfortable seat with a grunt. Ronon _knows_. Well, it isn't like they were keeping it all that secret from him or Teyla -- John isn't stupid or suicidal enough to try that -- but there are levels of understanding to deal with, here. There's the blanket, distant awareness that John's been under the impression Ronon and Teyla were working under. Dammit, that'd been a _good_ thing, giving John the space he needs without making him have to act like a jerk just to maintain certain... images.

But no, this isn't the kind of 'yeah, we know, moving on' understanding. Ronon clearly knows something deeper, because _he_ knows exactly why John's sulking in the labs, seething until his vision goes spotty and he wants nothing more than to grab Rodney and shove him into a 'jumper, gunning the thing until they were just flying up and away from everything and everyone else.

Everyone else's _touchy damn hands_.

The click of a laptop shutting is one sound John's trained himself to listen for. He glances up automatically to see Rodney stalking towards him, mouth crookedly scowling. "Rodney -- "

"Shut up," Rodney snaps. "You haven't let me out of your sight since we got inoculated, and you're _brooding_. The only times you brood are times when we don't have sex. That is unacceptable, because we are _having_ sex, soon, which means you are _going_ to tell me what the hell crawled up your ass and died."

It's as close to pleading confusion and worry as Rodney will ever get without the threat of impending doom. John knows that, but something still goes _ping_ inside his head, and suddenly he's moving, panting, pushing and shoving with his vision nothing but exploding white stars, until Rodney _oofs_ against the wall, on his tiptoes while John's weight keeps him pinned, John's hands bracketing his head.

"Is this how he did it?" he snaps. "Is this how Ronon did it?"

Rodney stares at him fixedly. "What?"

"Is this -- "

"No, I heard you, Sheppard. _This_ is what's bothering you? Not that Ronon shot you, or Elizabeth definitely would've slept with Lucius if he'd wanted to -- and can I say thank god he didn't while questioning what the hell was wrong with him because -- "

"Rodney!"

"You're _jealous_." The words crack through the air, Rodney's long-suffering amusement doing nothing to mitigate the gleam in his eyes. This close, John can see flecks of black and gold inside all that shifting, brilliant blue. Especially when Rodney tilts his head back smugly. "Ronon shoved me against the wall -- while he was _drugged_ , I might add, there wasn't, well, okay, it was only mildly kinky -- "

Rodney breaks off into a huff of air, John pressing himself even closer. "Kinky?" he growls. "It was _kinky_?"

" -- and you're jealous! And if it means you'll continue the jealous Neanderthal thing? Then yes, it was kinky."

Even through the constant thrum of _mine, mine, how dare he, mine_ \-- a feeling John still isn't entirely used to -- he manages to roll his eyes as he tilts his head to roughly take Rodney's mouth. Rodney makes a muffled sound for a minute before opening and letting John sweep his tongue inside, tasting nothing but clean, familiar Rodney.

When he finally pulls back, he's a little calmer.

"You _bit_ me," Rodney complains, freeing a hand so he can gingerly touch his lower lip. "You know I don't like -- oh. Oh _god_ what are you -- no, no, don't _stop!"_

John grins as he mouths Rodney's stomach again, hands frantically yanking Rondey's pants undone and down far enough. He can't ever remember being this jealous before, how it's almost primal, a desperate need to taste every part of Rodney, to swallow his cock so there's only the familiar salt-and-bitter of Rodney's skin, Rodney's precome slicking onto his tongue as he laps the head. He sucks furiously, bobbing up and down until he's certain his neck is going to ache later, but it doesn't _matter_. There's nothing under his tongue but Rodney, that familiar, addictive taste, but it's not enough. He has to check more, so he slips a finger into his mouth, tonguing over both while Rodney mumbles and groans above him, hands fluttering against John's head and shoulders, as if he's unsure of where to touch.

Rodney cries out, hoarse and sweet, as John drags a wet finger down past his balls to find a place nobody -- _nobody_ \-- but John gets to touch. There's resistance as he presses, and that makes John's dick throb with heat, because there should be resistance, not a lot, but it's been a couple of days and -- 

"Jesus, Sheppard," Rodney moans. "I was kidding about the -- ung -- Neanderthal!"

John uses his teeth just sharply enough to say _shut up_ , palm cradling Rondey's hip as he sucks his cock and fingers his ass, taking Rodney completely, reassuring himself because he _knows_ Rodney finds Ronon attractive, dead corpses would find the man attractive, and John's hardly ever in this position where he's not sure, because he never cares enough to want to keep what he has. But he does now, he cares, and he fucking _wants_ , and he's still going to make Ronon's life hell for the next few days because he _knew_ better than to manhandle Rodney like that, Rodney who likes it, likes everything John's doing to him, because he's gasping, head thunking against the wall as he makes a familiar, welcome mewling sound as he comes down John's throat.

They both pant for a while.

"So," John says, voice rough. "Not the shooting thing."

"I think I got that, yes." Rodney stays still as John uses him to pull himself to his feet. "Are you past your possessive rage thing?"

A hitch in Rodney's voice stops John from saying yes. He looks at Rodney, the flush on his cheeks, lips swollen from only one hard kiss, pants still undone with his softened cock wet against his thigh.

Rodney is staring at John, though. At John's cock, to be precise, which is obscenely tenting John's bdus.

"No?" John hazards slowly.

Rodney's still panting. "Oh, good. Now, if we take the short cut through the botanist's labs, we should be able to avoid seeing anyone because you are _not_ losing _that_ , understand me? We haven't been able to fuck in at least four days."

"I just gave you a blow job!"

"Are you _turning down_ a chance to _fuck me_?"

John doesn't bother dignifying that with an answer. Instead he starts tugging at Rodney's clothes, trying to put them to rights, while Rodney complains and whines, and strategically drops the name _Ronon_ every few sentences, just to keep John simmering.

They practically run to John's quarters, which are closer. The door shuts with a firm pressurized sucking sound, which is music to John's ears since it means _not opening for anything short of an emergency_. "Off," he snarls, already stripping himself and glaring at Rodney's mused clothes. "I want to see where he touched you."

"He probably left marks," Rodney says, breathing hard as he takes out the lube before dropping onto the bed. "And if he didn't, I'm sure you will."

"And listen to you bitch about that for weeks? Not a chance. I'm going to bruise _Ronon_."

Rodney's eyes burn incandescent and his cock, still wet and spent, actually twitches. "Can I watch?"

John snarls and pounces. "Not a fucking chance."

"Can I ask repeatedly? Because a vein in your temple _throbs_ every time I do, and while I'm worried about blood pressure and potential hemorrhaging, mostly it's incredibly hot."

Biting Rodney's lower lip again produces a long, drawn-out moan. "I'll make you stop, if you do," he promises, and smirks because that makes Rodney _arch_.

"Yes, yes, very effective for making me find new and fascinating ways to make you jealous," Rodney babbles, spreading his legs so John can finger him more easily, lube slippery on both their hands. "Oh, god, yes, harder."

Above him, John just smiles. "Yeah. Kinda figured that."


End file.
